


Kinetic Countermeasures

by evilmouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Ascension Week, Bathing/Washing, Do-Over, Drugged Sex, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Happy Empire Day, Hotel Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Sharing a Bed, Threesome - F/M/M, Tropes, surprisingly fluffy at times, the kindness of strangers, thryce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-01 12:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18800194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: It wasn't polstine spice Moff Ghadi used to drug Arihnda Pryce.  It was something worse.





	1. Threat Remediation

**Author's Note:**

> [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss) was an amazing, patient, and super helpful last-minute beta for this madness.
> 
> Anything that's good she fixed, anything that isn't, my fault!
> 
> A huge debt to the Fuck or Die ficcers who have gone before me into this garden of filthy delight.

It had been a successful evening, a predictable evening, until the turbolift doors opened.

Senior Lieutenant Thrawn had been shuffled back and forth between three separate galas for the second night in a row. Colonel Yularen was a powerful ally, and Thrawn was not going to second-guess the man’s political acumen, but if they hadn’t already made their case, it was unlikely a seventh or eighth Ascension Week ball would do the trick. The Chiss directed his implacable stare over at Ensign Eli Vanto, his long-suffering aide and interpreter. The young man looked exhausted— _ocular blood vessels demonstrating fatigue, reflexes decelerated, oxidative stress_ —and did a poor job of hiding it. He would have to augment his capacity for such events. Or get more sleep. Practice and motivation. Thrawn turned his gaze elsewhere before Vanto noticed his appraisal.

At least the Imperial Security Bureau had a secure block of rooms at this hotel. Yularen had offered them a double for the week with his characteristic foresight. It was more practical than staying on the _Blood Crow_ , the Colonel had insisted, and allowed his guests to maximize their time mingling with the Empire’s elite at the numerous parties. The _Alisandre_ was a bastion for the upper crust and privileged, and while Thrawn and Vanto’s room was simple, it was well-appointed. Thrawn was particularly appreciative of the luxury refresher after months of shipboard sanisteams. The Chiss were not adverse to creature comforts.

They were done for the evening, heading for the welcome respite of their chamber. Thrawn was thankful for the distance from the noise, artifice, and bustle of the gala. Necessary, but not what he would consider pleasant. 

Suddenly the turbolift chimed three times, indicating a priority call had redirected it. This was not uncommon at fancier hotels, where VIPs on the uppermost levels did not have to stand the inconvenience of attending the turbolift like a normal guest. Thrawn and Vanto exchanged pained looks as their floor soared past, the car eventually stopping at the five thousandth level.

The doors parted soundlessly as a disheveled young woman, dressed in rather striking formalwear, staggered through the opening. Thrawn took a step back, evaluating.

_Heartrate dangerously high, body temperature feverish and rising, skin flushed, heat centered in genital area_

Senator Domus Renking’s aide. Thrawn recognized her quickly from their earlier introduction, despite her agitated state.

Her neck swiveled towards Vanto as the doors closed.

“Please…” she whispered, and then launched herself with superhuman speed towards his interpreter.

Thrawn’s reflexes weren’t prepared to stop the attack, as the woman—Arihnda Pryce—he remembered her name with ease— clutched Vanto’s tunic and kissed him full on the mouth. Surely the ensign would have informed him if she’d been a previous acquaintance? Or lover?

Thrawn hesitated, unsure if assistance was required. She did not present, after all, a typical threat. Vanto’s hands opened, closed, and finally landed on the shoulders of the woman’s cape in seeming resignation.

Red eyes narrowed, Thrawn redirected the turbolift to their floor. Vanto’s hands now whitened against Ms. Pryce’s shoulders, pushing halfheartedly. His aide was apparently not a willing recipient of the woman’s affections, yet not violently resisting.

What, Thrawn wondered, was the matter with Ms. Arihnda Pryce? She had not been inebriated less than an hour ago; she had been polite, and given off an air of intelligence and attention when they had briefly conversed. He’d had a favorable impression of her. A very favorable impression, if he allowed himself to admit it. In any event, a far cry from the lust-fueled persona before him now.

“Ms. Pryce,” Thrawn said, the tone gentle but volume significant. 

She did not respond, wrapping her forearms in a lock around Vanto’s neck. 

Decided, Thrawn forcefully inserted himself between them. The woman thankfully didn’t resist as he separated her from her quarry. She turned wild eyes to Thrawn. Her pupils were blown so wide the lovely blue of her irises had been reduced to thin outlines. A halo of sweat beaded her hairline, droplets trailing along her jaw and disappearing behind her high collar.

_Lips swollen, ocular vessels reddened, breathing labored, muscles spasming._

“Ensign,” Thrawn said, his voice deadly serious as he finished his assessment. Pryce was not in control of herself. 

As if to punctuate the thought, she stepped close to him now, evidently willing to redirect her attentions. Her smile widened as his concern grew. She was in a daze, obviously under the influence of something stronger than alcohol.

“Hello again, Senior Lieutenant Thrawn,” Pryce said, the words well-enunciated, not at all crazed as her movements had been. “I _like_ you. You’re…You’re…” She seemed to try to wink, but her eyelid wasn’t cooperating, offering more of a strange twitch. “…Handsome,” she finished. 

Her eyes unfocused as he watched, and Thrawn tensed. Having seen how quickly she had moved upon entering the turbolift, he was able to anticipate her lunge, a second oral assault intended for his person. Thrawn caught her wrist’s outside edge as she reached for the front of his tunic. As gently as possible, he twisted to his right, bringing the arm behind her lower back. Undeterred, her free hand flew up, but he trapped that one as well. She was thus immobilized, but Thrawn felt a twinge of unease and looked to Vanto with a raised eyebrow.

“She’s drugged out of her mind,” the other man said, needlessly, something like awe in his tone.

“Clearly,” agreed Thrawn. “Do you—”

“Fuck me…” Pryce moaned loudly as the turbolift reached their floor. The doors parted to reveal a quartet of wide-eyed hotel guests. Thankfully they were dressed in the garish leisure garments of rich tourists, not uniformed Imperial brass. It was indeed a bizarre sight—one squirming young woman, her arms trapped by a stern blue alien in uniform, and a confused- looking ensign on the other side of the lift car. “I said fu—”

Making a quick decision, Thrawn spun Pryce back towards him and kissed her into silence. Her eager lips were yielding, her tongue pressing against his as she lifted onto her tiptoes and twined her freed arms around him. The swell of her breasts pushed against his chest, the heat of her mouth and taste of her far better than it should have been. Forcing himself to focus, Thrawn signaled Vanto to exit the lift.

He guided Pryce, liplocked, past the affronted tourists. Once they were in the corridor, the murmurs of annoyance migrated to the turbolift, cut off as the doors whooshed closed and they were alone once more. 

Thrawn broke the kiss—none too easy, as her mouth pulled insistently against his thin lips—and tried to determine the best course of action. His hands rested on her narrow hips, forcing distance, as he contemplated. Yes, he’d saved her from making a scene, or at least a greater scene, but at what cost to her reputation?

Vanto’s jaw was slack with pure shock.

“This could ruin her career,” Thrawn remarked, by way of explanation. “Her sexual motivation appears indiscriminate.” Pryce made no comment, but leaned heavily into his body with a small sigh, her hands starting to roam. Thrawn did his best to ignore her erotic meanderings as she glided delicate fingers across the front of his crotch, tracing a line along the seam of his uniform pants down the inner thigh.

“That’s probably what the goal is,” Vanto muttered, his blush starting to fade as the reality of the situation sunk in. “Renking must have pissed off someone high up if they’re embarrassing his aide with something this illegal.”

Thrawn agreed, taking Pryce’s hands firmly in his to stop them from unfastening his tunic, automatically registering and cataloging her reaction. She pouted, then smiled prettily at him, placing a loud kiss on his rank plaque. Her uncontrolled pulse throbbed erratically beneath heated skin as he held her.

“Her blood pressure is at a dangerous level. And her respiration is increasing in speed. It seems that embarrassment is the least of Ms. Pryce’s problems.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Pryce complained. Her voice sounded weaker than it had in the lift. She leaned down to where their hands were joined and tried to suck on Thrawn’s middle finger. He curled it away from her mouth. 

“It’s some kind of drug,” she whined, exasperated, as she moved to its longer neighbor. Thrawn looked carefully at her, hoping for some useful information, but she offered none. He could only see the heat rising on her skin, feel the acceleration of her pulse. 

“Fuck me? Please?” She wasn’t begging, but she was close.

Thrawn grimaced.

“Her health is rapidly deteriorating.” He had switched to Sy Bisti so Pryce wouldn’t understand. “Platykona-zemlo-mobris or spice mixture? Perhaps Savorium or a similar narcotic. Something potent and undiluted.”

Vanto shook his head. “It’s a lethal breeding variant, if she’s going downhill this fast.”

Thrawn let out a curse in Cheunh. His own entanglements were already complicated. Ideally, they should find out who did this to her, determine motivations and analyze outcomes before deciding upon any tactical response. But if she didn’t find relief soon, it wouldn’t matter.

He thought quickly. Pryce had joined them on the upper levels, where the Moffs and Admirals were staying. Senator Renking had asked her to run an errand for him during their brief introduction. Moff Ghadi—the name appeared without difficulty in Thrawn’s memory. Perhaps she had rejected the powerful man’s advances and been dosed in revenge. Or been a willing participant and miscalculated her tolerance.

“Come on,” she whispered into his neck, hips tilting sensuously against his thigh. “I don’t have much time...”

Those five words were the first hint they’d had that she was aware of the danger. Ms. Pryce had indeed been targeted for humiliation or homicide, her assailant apparently content with either result. 

Thrawn felt disgust roil under his skin—for unscrupulous people, unearned privilege, backwards hierarchy, and lack of honor. An enemy should be confronted with courage, not poisoned in cowardice. Battles should be won through tactical brilliance, not craven subterfuge. It was evident her enemies did not share his esteem for the art of war.

Thrawn could consider the fact that this woman may not be entirely innocent, but he didn’t have time to dissect the political nuances in any event. No matter the reason for her predicament, or whether or not she bore some blame for it, speed was essential.

“Ensign, breeder variants have basic sexual remedies, correct?” Thrawn started jogging down the elegantly decorated hallway, tugging Pryce by the hand after him. She stumbled with a harsh gasp and he yanked her up, not slowing. The drug was fast-acting, whatever it was. They needed to move.

Vanto kept step and even sped up a bit, outpacing Thrawn as they turned the corridor towards their assigned room.

“Yessir. That’s their whole purpose. Typically…” Vanto coughed, clearly uncomfortable with the topic and uncertain how to finish the thought. 

Pryce staggered once more.

_Breath audible but irregular. Heartbeat faint and staccato. Consciousness fading._

They were losing her. Thrawn scooped her up lightly into his arms, breaking into a run as he finished Vanto’s phrase.

“Typically insemination, fertilization, or orgasm trigger the proper hormonal antidote and medically reduce the likelihood of cardiac arrest or loss of brain function.” Thrawn’s voice was even, practical, as if he wasn’t carrying anything heavier than a datapad and merely discussing the weather. “Depending on the pharmaceutical composition of the drug.”

The other man’s silence meant he agreed with Thrawn’s clinical analysis. The popularity of pleaz-mo and Love-Wallop pills had increased in recent years. Along with spice derivatives, the Imperial Navy had its share of abusers. Like all things, the weaponization of pleasure chemicals had been inevitable.

They reached the room at last, and Pryce’s eyes, glazed and unseeing, opened only briefly when Thrawn stopped. Her scent had changed. Whatever level of arousal had kept her mobile and awake was starting to fade as her pheromone concentrations dropped.

Thrawn set the woman back on her feet, looping one arm about her waist in support. She sagged against his chest as he reached into his pocket and tossed the code cylinder to Vanto. As the ensign fumbled with the door, Thrawn pulled Pryce close and kissed her again with all the passion he could muster. 

It wasn’t too difficult—whatever other talents Senator Renking’s aide may have, she was an excellent kisser, drugged or no. The response was immediate and enthusiastic, surprising him. Thrawn was too preoccupied to let himself get lost in it, but his cock had other ideas, already stiffening in approval.

_Saliva production increasing, body temperature unstable, skin hypersensitive._

She had to stay excited long enough to copulate. That was the point of these drugs—get the victim to reproduce or at least go through the biological motions. Resistance meant death. Perhaps thankfully, this variant seemed to include an euphoric element that meant it should at least be pleasurable for the woman.

Thrawn’s kiss was rewarded with eager hands reaching up to stroke his head, fingertips pushing along his scalp. Good. It seemed hormones were one component to saving her. But they couldn’t be sure what denouement was demanded by the unknown drug. He deepened the kiss.

Vanto took too long to get the door open, the cylinder slipping twice through his sweaty fingers. Once he had succeeded, Thrawn quickly brought her inside, punching the controls with his free hand to lock the portal. Bright lights, motion activated, automatically switched on. He abandoned any idea of keeping Pryce from running her hands over his body as he moved into the sleeping area. She had a chance, a small one.

“Ensign, time is short.” Taking Pryce’s fingers from his face, where she had been tracing his cheekbones, Thrawn turned her towards Vanto and gave her a small push in the other man’s direction. He continued in Sy Bisti. “She responded well to arousal, a hormonal surge from the kiss. You may be able to save her.”

Vanto sputtered as Pryce approached him. At least the woman wasn’t being difficult about this. She was focused, quiet, moving with intent. Thrawn could see tension in her muscles, a stiffness indicating some level of discomfort or pain. Her entire body was likely oxygen deprived, or getting there.

“Why me?” The other man spoke in Basic, far from calm. Pryce began tugging at Vanto’s pants, but Thrawn could see her actions were once again tilting towards lethargy. “She just…well…she seems to prefer…”

Thrawn shook his head.

“You are _human_ , Eli,” he replied gently, then switched back to the secret trade language they shared. “It is the logical way to proceed. Judging by the diminished function of motor skills,” he gestured towards Pryce’s fingers, fighting clumsily with the younger man’s belt, “she does not have much time.” The belt came undone and Pryce let out a small cry of victory. She dropped heavily to her knees in front of Vanto. “You are her best hope.”

Vanto gulped for air as Pryce started pushing his grey pants down past his hips.

“But…” the word came out choked, as Pryce exposed his limp cock and wrapped her lips encouragingly around it. 

Thrawn kept his red gaze firmly fixed to Vanto’s flushed face and waited. His own erection hadn’t faltered, the memory of her hands stroking his hair and her demanding kisses slow to vanish from his thoughts.

“Sir…” the younger man persisted, “breeder variants are hard to predict. If the users were sex slavers, it may respond better to non-human—” The sentence died on his lips as Pryce started pumping his cock in her mouth harder, moving back and forth along its modest length. She was determined to coax Vanto to life, and her energy was returning—that much was clear. 

Thrawn’s muscles constricted as one, his peripheral vision damning him to awareness of Pryce's apparent zeal for her work. But her fever raged unabated. He could see the pulsing rhythm of blood coursing along her neck had trebled. She would have a heart attack if she didn’t have intercourse soon.

Thrawn didn’t blame Vanto for impotence in what was admittedly a stressful situation, but it _was_ an annoyance—a particularly ill-timed one. The irritation must have shown on his face.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Vanto turned his head up to the ceiling, obviously miserable.

Without a word, Thrawn began removing his clothes, precision sacrificed for haste.

“What are you—”

His superior officer cut Vanto off with a snap of his fingers, indicating the bed, and issued a command in Sy Bisti.

“Lie down. If I am unsuccessful, you need to make the attempt, or we will watch her die tonight.”

Silent, Vanto did as instructed, removing his shirt, kicking off his boots, and stepping out of the military pants that had pooled around his feet. He lifted Pryce to her feet and led her over to the nearer of the two beds with no further argument.

Thrawn approved. Neither of them had time for modesty or excuses if they were serious about helping this woman. And he had already accepted responsibility for her welfare, however unwise that decision may ultimately prove.

Pryce turned to look at Thrawn as he finished stripping. Her lust-dilated eyes rounded at the expanse of pale blue flesh, lingering on his cock—anatomically similar enough, but nonetheless unmistakably nonhuman. They settled at last on his face. Her arousal was apparently undimmed by the view, but for the first time, Thrawn sensed hesitation. Swallowing, she spoke, head lolling back in Vanto’s direction, the words slurring.

“Both? You. And…both?”

Thrawn did his best to look unconcerned despite the aural evidence of neural deterioration. Heat was visible between her legs, a rush of blood warming her unlined face. 

“Yes, Arihnda.” He smiled tight-lipped at the young woman that he’d just met that evening. The senator’s aide whose life now depended on two almost-strangers. “Allow me.” 

Deft fingers worked quickly, her belt unclasped and discarded in seconds. The decorative black vambraces covering her long sleeves unfastened and fell to the carpet soon after. Thrawn’s right hand slipped under the unusual high-collared aquamarine demi-cape, finding the line of the tunic flap. He removed the garment so quickly it ripped in one corner as he yanked it over her hips. It was still in one piece, he noticed automatically—wearable if she survived.

Her no-nonsense boots came next. Thrawn bent down. Pryce placed trembling hands on his muscled shoulders and obediently lifted each foot in turn as he pulled them off. Still crouched before her, Thrawn next slid off her underwear and pants together, in one smooth motion.

Expediency was paramount. She was shaking visibly now, the fluttering of her pulse transmitted through her fingers onto his bare skin. Perhaps a good sign, but perhaps not.

Experimentally, he placed a kiss at the top of her exposed cunt, the pale skin there burning his lips. Thrawn flicked his long tongue inside, targeting the bundle of nerves that was the center of pleasure in her species. Pryce moaned and pressed her crotch enthusiastically into his face, rubbing against his nose. She was very wet, and well past ready. The insidious chemicals had seen to that.

Thrawn stood up, steeling himself against the adoring glow in her eyes as she trailed a hand from his collarbone down the middle of his chest. It meant nothing, this distracting way she touched him. She was drugged. She was dying and didn’t know it. And he had to maintain focus long enough to fuck her.

Thrawn’s strong fingers clasped her toned biceps, turning her around to face his subordinate. Vanto lay with an air of doom on the saava silk sheets, studiously avoiding his gaze. Pryce stood and leaned back onto Thrawn’s chest, grinding her ass against his rigid cock.

“I’m ready for you,” she panted, her exhalations coming ragged and weak. “But… he’s not.. ready for me…” The last sounded tentative, as if she had begun to sense something wrong with the scenario.

Thrawn pushed firmly between her shoulder blades, bowing her spine over the edge of the bed. Over Vanto. Her hands disappeared from view.

“Make him ready, Arihnda,” Thrawn answered. Without preamble, he braced her hips and pushed his cock deep into her waiting cunt. Pryce cried out at the intrusion, then groaned as he reached her limit. She gasped again, as if the oxygen in the room was no longer sufficient.

“Eli—” Thrawn’s voice held a warning, and the ensign responded with some hidden movement. Pryce’s cries became muffled as she took Vanto’s cock once more between her lips. The graceful arc of her back hid the man’s groin from sight, but Thrawn watched, evaluating. Vanto’s neck flexed and relaxed, his eyes falling closed as Pryce’s head bobbed over him.

She felt _ideal,_ that was the word that stormed his brain, which both shocked and appalled him. Thrawn’s sense of honor dictated his own pleasure should have no part in this, but its presence was undeniable. Pressing his lips together, he began to pump steadily, scientifically assessing her responses to each shift of his hips, each angle of penetration.

She moaned with her mouth full, the erotic sound strange and lonely in the dim hotel room. Thrawn rolled his body against hers, responding with a grunt as she rocked her ass back into him, meeting his powerful thrusts with violence of her own. Sweat dotted her pale skin as she reversed harder, one hand reaching for his hip, asking for more. Whatever sadistic pharmacist had concocted the drug in her veins had left the semblance of libido intact, however synthetic its origin.

A small sound from the bed, and Thrawn slid his gaze carefully through lowered eyelids towards Vanto.

_Toes curling, calves tensing, jaw flexing, lips compressed._

Good. Very good. But if he came in the woman’s mouth it would be a disaster. And if the ensign’s stamina was anything like the average human male, they didn’t have much time.

Speed felt even more important now, given Vanto’s apparent readiness, so Thrawn shoved deeper, his fingers gliding around Pryce’s sharp hips. Her hands slipped on the mattress as she shrieked from the force of his fucking. Scrambling to stay upright, she looked over her right shoulder at him, mouth open and wet. Blue eyes bright with desire. Thrawn held her gaze as he reached between her legs. His index and middle fingers rubbed hard against her clit. She was so slick, dripping onto him. The smell of her was intoxicating, Thrawn thought, something bitter and bronze. He wondered vaguely if it was her natural scent or the drug sweating through her pores. He increased his tempo. 

Her thighs quivered, coated with her own lubrication and sweat as she tensed. Thrawn licked his fingers unthinkingly, finding her flavor both tart and piquant. Delicious, but the taste brought him back to his mission. His attention returned to her clit as he rubbed with renewed purpose. She quaked against him, then bent to continue the blowjob.

As Thrawn urged her ever closer to orgasm, her cunt tightened around his cock. Her feet slipped on the floor, but his free hand held her upright, fingers digging into her side. Pryce’s mouth left Vanto’s erection to scream as she came, cursing in some Outer Rim language that Thrawn didn’t understand. Vanto’s eyes snapped open, but Thrawn was pleased to see the other man’s hands were not idle, one out of his line of sight, apparently stroking his cock, and the other caressing Pryce’s breasts.

If her orgasm was part of the antidote, at least that had now been addressed. Thrawn pounded harder from behind, hearing her choke back cries as his curved cock rippled up through her body, hitting places neglected by human genitalia. His movements became instinctive, brutal as he rushed towards his own finish.

If it hadn’t been for the medical necessity of this act, Thrawn thought without humor, he would have quite liked to fuck Ms. Arihnda Pryce under normal circumstances. Her tight body felt exquisite around him, scraping against his tapered cock’s ridges and nubs, clenching and flexing each time his length disappeared between her legs. Her firm ass was rounded with muscle and just as enticing. But as much as he would have liked to prolong his own climax, the situation remained too tense, too foreign to forget the critical objective.

And on some level he _did_ want to forget. His mind resisted focus. Thrawn allowed himself to briefly entertain the idea of taking her in the ass as she rode Vanto on the bed. Her tightest hole stretched around his width, his fingers sucked between her lips, her body writhing and filled completely as they tested the limits of pleasure together.

The fantasy image was more than sufficient to send him over the edge, although with some degree of guilt. This woman may appear a willing participant in this impromptu ménage à trois, but Pryce had no choice in the matter. It was likely that if she survived this ordeal she would never want to see either of them again, despite the way—or perhaps because of how—they had saved her life.

Thrawn’s thighs tensed, his hips seizing a final time as the last bit of control left him. What had started as duty finished in a mindless haze as he came, the release of pressure leaving him stunned. Pryce jerked beneath him, a small whimper and sigh escaping as he emptied himself inside her warmth. 

She straightened up as he pulled out, spinning and capturing his lips in a sloppy, trembling kiss. His hands cradled the sides of her neck, checking her pulse, feeling her breasts heave in steadier breaths against his sweaty torso. Better. No longer at risk of death, but difficult to gauge if she was merely responding favorably to sexual activity or had satisfied the demands of the drug.

Still kissing her, Thrawn tried to distance himself from the sensation of delight on her tongue. She tasted like Eli, he realized, and rapidly shut down that train of thought.

“That was amazing,” she whispered happily against his lips as her hands pushed into his short hair. Thrawn placed a brief kiss on her mouth. He then indicated his colleague on the bed with a wordless tilt of his head. She looked behind, meeting the ensign’s dark brown eyes. Vanto held out a hand for Pryce, who accepted it, turning back to the mattress and climbing atop him without a word. She adjusted, lowering onto Vanto’s hard-won erection with a hum of contentment.

Thrawn turned from the sight, padding to the refresher to clean up. His subordinate would be more likely to perform his duty without his superior officer as a witness, but that image of the two of them taking her simultaneously was still in his thoughts, teasing Thrawn’s brain. His cock twitched as if to assert its willingness to continue, to explore those stimulating possibilities. Thrawn absently turned on the water in the sink, mind uncharacteristically uncooperative.

Was it really so far-fetched? He’d fucked her while she sucked Vanto…it was a small leap from that to double penetration. And she would enjoy it…he'd make certain of it...

He roughly fisted his sensitive cock to wrench himself back to reality. The pain was centering, and he hissed through his teeth. He didn't understand his own reaction to her. She was a _victim_. Pryce wasn’t enjoying anything—not really. Thrawn closed his eyes, tamping down incipient guilt. Yes, she was a victim. But neither was he a monster. They were helping. 

He hadn’t asked for this.

The only sound from the bedroom now was the slapping of skin against skin. Thrawn restrained himself from checking. The woman was still breathing, so for the moment was out of danger. And once Vanto had climaxed inside her, they could be relatively confident that she was safe. All plausible required outcomes actualized.

Thrawn regarded himself in the mirrored wall, thoughts still unhelpfully fragmented, chest suddenly tight. It was possible, he knew, that Pryce would turn around and claim rape. It had occurred to him that this was all some elaborate setup, a trap to take advantage of their honorable inclinations. 

If that were the case, it was already too late. It wasn’t as if there were other blue-skinned aliens at the gala this evening to take the blame if Pryce did turn out to be complicit in an attempt to ruin him. Somehow he believed it wasn’t that. Intuition, or instinct, perhaps, dictated otherwise. And while Thrawn often discounted intuition in favor of rationale in most cases, tonight he was grateful for it. 

He did not feel rational.


	2. Risk Assessment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to my wonderful beta [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss) who goes above and beyond.

Thrawn no longer heard the sounds of sex coming from outside the door. 

He splashed some cold water on his face, drank deeply, and then returned to the bedroom with a full glass.

Vanto was lying in the same position as when Thrawn had left, an embarrassed look on his face. 

_Blood pressure normalizing, temperature dropping, slight tremor at left eyelid._

Thrawn had no sympathy for the man’s shyness, if that was the cause. It was a difficult situation for them all. He looked quickly to Pryce, who was lying on the other bed, nude and boneless, thighs shiny. She stared blankly up at the ceiling, well-formed breasts rising and falling evenly. 

_Heartbeat slowing. Skin feverish but respiration stable. Heat still centered in genital area._

He walked further into the room, addressing Vanto in Sy Bisti.

“Did you succeed?”

“Yes,” came the rasped response. “I think she’s coming out of it.”

The Chiss raised his eyebrows. That would explain her distance, at least. 

Thrawn moved carefully to the supine form on the far mattress, offering her the glass. Pryce sat up, wincing, and accepted it. She held it unsteadily with both hands, as if the weight was almost too great a burden, but drank the entire quantity in three large draughts.

“Do you remember what happened?” Thrawn asked her.

The woman handed back the glass and ignored the question, looking past Thrawn towards the refresher door. He took the hint.

“Of course, feel free to use the refresher.”

A cold facsimile of a smile appeared on her lips, a worrisome expression. Pryce stood with difficulty and walked gingerly towards the smaller room. She slipped as she passed. Thrawn reflexively gripped her bicep, preventing the fall, noting her body temperature was dropping further. Pryce sagged against his support, but then managed to stand on her own. 

Thrawn released her arm.

She would recover. However, they didn’t know what the drug had been, and it was possible she could suffer related ill effects. Pryce didn’t shut the door. Neither Thrawn nor Eli spoke. In the heavy silence, Thrawn walked over to where Vanto had left his datapad and picked it up.

The shower turned on, and there was a muted thud. Their guest evidently needed assistance. Moving quickly, Thrawn handed the hardware to Vanto as he crossed to the open doorway.

“Research protocols for breeding incentive drug recovery, Ensign. Withdrawal symptoms and treatments.”

Without waiting for a reply, Thrawn entered the refresher and shut the door behind him. Pryce had sunken to the stall floor, propped up against the side, and sat motionless under the hot spray. She did not startle at his entrance.

“I will join you,” he said smoothly, deciding not to comment on her position. “Better you not be alone until the drug is completely out of your system.” The stall door slid open as he hit the release panel, not waiting for her response. 

Pryce did not display any obvious indications of trepidation or refusal. Thrawn took it as a bad sign. She could still be under the soporific influence of the drug, or perhaps in shock. He was prepared to continue with sexual remediation if necessary, but had hoped the biological mandate had been sufficiently satisfied to keep her out of danger. 

Thrawn stepped beneath the water, letting out an involuntary sigh as it hit his skin. Pryce watched him warily from the floor. He glanced down at her, sprawled and ungainly. Her blue eyes were radiant now. The haze was gone, the strong color more pronounced as her vision returned to normal. 

Thrawn said nothing, pushing the button for soap. He lathered himself, keeping his distance. Suds bubbled and bled down his legs. Pryce cleared her throat. Thrawn expected a question or complaint, but nothing came. Clean, he crouched down, but rather than pick her up, began to soap up her shoulders, back, and limbs in the same impassive manner as he’d washed his own. She lifted her arms unasked, stretched a leg to make room for him. 

After her hair was shampooed, Thrawn bent at the waist and offered his arm, as smoothly as if inviting her to dance. She placed both hands on his forearm and managed to regain her feet. Once upright, she braced her weight on his shoulders. Her hands tightened ever so slightly against his skin, the nails pressing against him, pricking. Thrawn avoided her eyes as he continued to wash her, hands briskly gliding along her breasts, between her thighs.

“He said it would be in my system for weeks,” Pryce stated evenly, breaking the silence at last. “If I survived the first twelve hours.”

Thrawn made no comment, rinsing the soap from her pale skin. He wasn’t one to offer comfort. And she didn’t seem to be seeking it. The fact was she _had_ survived. And she knew her attacker. 

“Do you have a safe place to go?” he asked a few moments later. There was the possibility that her death had been the goal, and if so, someone would try to finish the job.

Pryce pushed past him, wet skin briefly sliding past wet skin as she switched places to stand under the heated stream of water. Thrawn wondered if she’d heard. She washed the product from her cropped hair, eyes closing briefly, then pressed the control for more pressure. 

“Here,” she answered, her voice almost drowned out by the pounding water. She took a deep breath and replied to his earlier question. “I remember. I remember everything…You saved my life.” A thin smile that had no humor in it. “Both of you.”

Thrawn felt unusually self-conscious at her admission. Until then, he hadn’t realized how much he’d expected her to be an enemy. Or working for an enemy. The steam from the shower felt thick in his lungs and he said nothing, looking at the droplets forming a shifting mosaic along her throat.

“I don’t know what I would have done…” she continued. “Anyone…” Pryce shuddered despite the heat, her voice cracking as she turned away from him and faced the wall. “I could have—”

She didn’t finish, a violent shiver cutting her off. 

“That is not important, Ms. Pryce,” Thrawn replied, turning off the water. 

He handed her a thick towel from the warmer shelf and took one for himself. He rubbed it three times over his blue-black hair before wrapping it tightly around his waist. Feeling her eyes, he looked to see her watching him with something like curiosity.

“Call me Arihnda,” she said. She didn’t add “since you fucked me,” but Thrawn heard it nonetheless.

She was not weak-spirited, that much was clear. But she was physically suffering, despite her growing strength. His infrared vision took in her still-fluttering pulse, her pupils that seemed to grow and shrink rapidly despite the steady illumination in the refresher. There were, apparently, other side effects, now that the immediate danger had been avoided.

“Very well, Arihnda,” he agreed with a nod. “I am sorry for what happened to you.” It was clear she understood there had been no alternative, as the person who dosed her had explained what her fate was to be. Thrawn hazarded a guess. “Moff Ghadi?”

Her blue eyes chilled as he watched, a layer of ice seeming to overtake them from the pupils outward. 

“It will cost him.”

The cold confidence of her words slid over him, strangely erotic in their assurance and tone. Thrawn turned away, trying to suppress the erection that was beginning to reassert itself beneath the towel. He opened the refresher door.

“Of course you may stay here tonight.” 

Vanto heard Thrawn’s words. He was sitting up in bed with the sheets covering his lower half, datapad in hand. He averted his eyes carefully from Arihnda as she reentered the main room. She moved quickly to the other bed, pulling down the sheets with shaking hands. Thrawn helped, resisting the urge to switch to Sy Bisti. He didn’t wish to alienate the woman, and she surely deserved to know her own diagnosis. At least it seemed their particular services would not be needed again. Together, they seemed to have placated the drug.

“Well, Ensign?” he tossed the question as casually as possible, holding the top sheet as Arihnda nestled into the expensive mattress. She shivered.

Vanto cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. A nervous habit. “It’s difficult to guess, but certain things are consistent with most breeder variants. Chem or spice signatures stay in the system anywhere up to twenty standard days, and can be triggered by other synthetic catalysts back into…uh…”

“I understand,” Thrawn murmured. “What else?”

“Most of the danger is in the first eight to twelve hours.” 

Thrawn nodded. “Twelve for this drug, according to Moff Ghadi,” he confirmed.

Vanto raised an incredulous eyebrow at the name of Pryce’s attacker, and then bit his lip. Thrawn understood his reaction. Angering a Moff was not the best course of action for someone facing a court martial, but it was too late now. The woman may have merited some sort of reprisal. Thrawn was still unsure if he should ask what had incited the attack—but he doubted she deserved death, whatever it had been.

He glanced towards the bed. Arihnda was listening, eyes narrowed, propped up on a pillow. There was a frailty about her now that inexplicably disturbed him.

_Naked shoulders hunched, chin wobbling, nostrils flaring, lips almost invisible from pressure._

Thrawn went to his bag and pulled out a sleeveless black undershirt, walking it over to the bed. Arihnda took it, lower lip quavering. For the first time, she seemed close to tears. Thrawn looked away, giving her as much privacy as possible in the small space.

“Anyway,” Vanto went on, apparently attempting to do the same, “unless there are complications, the slave…uh…victim is completely cured once the incubation period is ended. Twenty days is average but can be shortened. Such as…well, if you flush the system with medcenter treatments, full plasma replacement, blood cycling, synthetic countermeasures, some stuff I’m not familiar with…”

“Thank you,” Thrawn said, moving around the room and picking up the discarded clothing. He folded Arihnda’s into a neat pile and hung up both uniforms. When that was done, he went back to his bag and pulled out underwear for himself.

“Uh…sir…” Thrawn paused, suspicious of Vanto’s tone, and turned to see the man looking uncomfortable once more. His fingers were tight against the datapad, his jaw set. “Withdrawal is often...painful. Even when uh…the breeder’s need has been met.”

As if on cue, a small groan from the other bed caused them both to look towards Pryce. She had put on Thrawn’s shirt and her eyes were screwed shut.

“Arihnda,” Thrawn said, holding up a finger to halt Vanto’s next words. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m freezing,” she whimpered. Her teeth started to chatter. He remembered the shivers in the refresher. Early signs of what was to come, it seemed.

Thrawn looked back to his subordinate.

“She needs a medcenter. It’ll get worse. We can’t—we can’t help with this.” 

Before Thrawn could reply, there was another cry of pain. He started towards the pile of clothes he’d folded.

“I can’t go. It’s illegal…” Pryce’s voice was strained, but the words were clear. “No one will believe me.”

The men exchanged a look. She was right, of course. Thrawn considered, evaluating her condition with impartiality. She was far from the abyss of earlier, even if her vital signs were not exactly back to human norms. They could summon an emdee droid if necessary. Shivers and screams weren’t life-threatening.

“Very well, Arihnda,” Thrawn answered. In Sy Bisti, he spoke to Vanto. “There must be a guest med kit here somewhere with analgesics. We should get a blood sample evaluated to determine what the drug was.” Vanto looked confused. “Take it to Colonel Yularen.”

“That’s a bad idea,” the ensign said bluntly, still speaking Sy Bisti. The phrase made Thrawn arch an eyebrow and look rather sternly at the other man. Vanto shook his head, adamant, ignoring Thrawn’s pique. “ISB won’t want to get involved in this. Whatever happened, Thrawn, she’s just an aide. A nobody.” 

Vanto was sensitive to such things, Thrawn knew it well. The man had always felt uneasy among the powerful and higher ranks of the Empire. His Outer Rim origins gave him permanent outsider status. But Vanto had a point. Would anyone care about a young woman wronged by an influential politician? Perhaps not.

Vanto continued. “We don’t know whose side is the right one. We don’t have enough information.” He looked briefly towards Arihnda and ran a hand through his hair again. “We don’t have ANY information! She could be a spy. A Rebel, even. And we’ve interfered.” He saw the slight twist of Thrawn’s lips and quickly added “…I’m not saying we shouldn’t have. I’m just saying—”

“Find the med kit, Ensign,” Thrawn interrupted in Basic, his words clipped and voice low. Vanto dutifully headed into the refresher, stopping to grab his pants. Thrawn finished straightening up the room, pulling on the underwear and tossing the wet towel in the far corner. 

A few moments later, Vanto reappeared with a basic medpac. Standard hotel amenity. He handed it to Thrawn, who placed it on the edge of the bed and reviewed its contents: antibiotics, hypos, a cauterizer, weak pain meds, bacta dressings, two injectable stim-shots, and coagulant aids. Not bad for a hotel, but still basic. 

On the other bed, Arihnda moaned, visibly quaking. Her temperature had dropped dramatically. Thrawn wondered if this was still the drug’s effect—perhaps they hadn’t been as successful as he thought, and its fatal trigger had not been subverted.

Thrawn regarded an empty hypo, taking it out and turning it in the artificial light. Abruptly, he came to a decision, going to the woman and smoothing the damp hair from her forehead.

“Arihnda, give me your arm.”

She complied, biting her lip and tensing her muscles to keep the shakes minimized. Before she had time to register his plan, Thrawn arced the inside of her elbow up and out, his thumb sliding along the blue vein beneath the surface. 

“Hold still,” he said softly, and jabbed the depressed hypo into the blood vessel. It wasn’t made for this, but worked well enough. Thrawn pulled up on the plunger with his teeth and drew several milliliters of dark liquid into the barrel. Once full, he extracted it and gently bent her arm, holding the wrist to her shoulder. He replaced the cap on the hypo. 

Having witnessed all, Vanto surely knew his intention, despite disagreeing with his superior’s recommended course of action. And Thrawn didn’t wish to give an order for something so obviously counter to his military role. But loyalty won out.

Vanto held out a hand with no further protests, and Thrawn gave him the hypo. Taking a pouch from the medpac intended for used bacta patches, Vanto carefully secured the impromptu blood vial within.

“I’ll comm him from the lobby.” Vanto knew Thrawn well enough to know how to play this. “No names, no details.” He shrugged with a momentary frown. “Yularen will figure it out anyway, you know. And the room is likely under surveillance.”

Thrawn agreed. He had thought of that as well. When Yularen told them it was a “secure” room, no one could expect that security to exclude the ISB’s omnipresent stare.

“Thank you, Ensign,” he said.

Vanto dressed quickly and fled the room.


	3. Vulnerability Analysis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With love to the fic whining circle and extra cookies to my patient beta on this [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss)!

The door shut, underscoring Vanto’s departure. The soft slide of the lock engaging sounded final, and Thrawn felt drained. He sat on the empty bed, the action reminding him he’d been standing for hours.

“Please…”

The word troubled him. It was what she’d said as she entered the turbolift. Was she still subject to the drug’s imperative? Thrawn dragged himself to his feet, feeling the weight of his own body as if it were someone else’s, heavy and substantial. He should have given her a painkiller. He had to check on her. Stepping to Pryce’s side, the sight of her quaking limbs ripped him back to alertness.

“Please.”

It was barely a word. She was trembling. Thrawn laid a hand on her forehead. Clammy, but not feverish. Perhaps it was only withdrawal. He cursed in his native tongue. Drug dealers were surely the scum of the galaxy. But Vanto would hurry back with some useful information, Thrawn reassured himself. Failing that, an emdee droid.

A shaky hand reached out towards him. An obvious supplication.

Thrawn clamped down his surprise as if it were a physical thing, setting his jaw and keeping his gaze steady. He tried to remember the last time someone invited him to bed, and could not. Sliding between the expensive sheets, he breathed through the tension in his own body.

Wordlessly, Arihnda wrapped herself against his side. He allowed it, knowing his body heat would not be sufficient to warm her. She settled into the crook of his arm, head on his bicep, burying her face against his armpit. He pulled the covers higher with his free hand, tucking the cloth around her neck.

“If I have to … if it comes back …”

“Yes, Arihnda,” Thrawn answered her stilted question, voice soft and soothing. “Try to sleep.”

“You will? Again? If…”

“I will.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. Thrawn did not. He waited, evaluating her vital signs, withstanding the occasional tremor against his frame as she tensed and clenched, her muscles spasming and her skin crawling. He could do nothing but monitor her and hold her as she’d tacitly requested.

Vanto was still gone when she fell asleep. 

Thrawn took the ensign’s prolonged absence as a good sign. If Yularen had refused to assist, it would have been a brief trip. 

Thrawn was tired, but stayed awake, keeping his mind occupied with the strangeness of the night’s events. He ran over the timeline, analyzing his decisions from various angles. After every possible outcome was considered, he always arrived at the same conclusion—there had been no alternative resulting in survival for the woman sleeping next to him except the one they had pursued. The drug, whatever it was, had been fast-acting. Her human biology had indicated tachycardic progression at unsafe levels. Extremely unsafe. Thrawn estimated her beats per minute upon entering the turbolift to be somewhere in the 160-170 range. By the time they had gotten her into the room, it had increased by at least twenty. Death had been imminent.

Arihnda’s warm lips grazed his side as she turned slightly in her sleep. Narrowing his eyes, Thrawn lay a finger along her carotid, where the pulse was visible. 80… He counted again. 83 perhaps. Well within normal human range.

Her neck relaxed under his finger, and Thrawn rested his palm there, observing. The muscle was strong, the line of her throat long and graceful. Her chin was pointed, her nose prominent and straight. Her lips looked thin and drawn as she slept, pressed together just enough to indicate stress, but not enough to cause lines around her mouth. Thrawn remembered her kiss. What eagerness and desire he’d tasted on her tongue, the raw power of her lust. Catalyzed by something manufactured, yes, but the flavor of her had seemed anything but false.

A soft tap at the door before Vanto entered once more. Thrawn was almost amused at the inference—his colleague felt he may be interrupting. He did not immediately move from his position, only turning his head to demonstrate he was awake. Vanto nodded, saying nothing, and held up his hand, waving a packet.

It would be difficult to disengage without waking the woman next to him, but Thrawn decided to try. 

As he moved his arm, she jerked in her sleep, pressing hard into his side. One smooth leg slid over his knee. Giving up his attempt to leave her undisturbed, Thrawn pulled from her embrace. He sat up, feet flat on the floor, and gestured to the square envelope Vanto was holding. 

“Scrubber pills,” the ensign whispered, “courtesy of the ISB.” 

Thrawn raised an eyebrow and waited for more information.

“I explained the situation as uh…” Vanto rubbed his neck, looking like a teenager. Thrawn wondered at his persistent embarrassment. “As succinctly as possible.”

“Did he test the sample?”

Vanto shook his head. “Knew what it was by the description. Said there’s an expensive and volatile new breeder’s synth on the market, called Krak.” He lowered his voice even further. “It’s ‘kark’ backwards…that means—”

“I know what it means, Eli, continue.”

“Anyway, he gave me these—”

Thrawn held out his hand as Vanto dumped three pills from the packet into the open palm. 

“One for you, two for her.” The pills were small and white, completely nondescript. “The Colonel said it’s safe for non-humans. I already took mine.”

“So Krak is contagious?” asked Thrawn, wondering about the implications of this information. And the fact that Yularen was now taken into their confidence regarding something so potentially damaging.

“Depends on the dosage she had, and uh…what we did with her. Which I didn’t specify. But he said better safe than sorry. Two for her, just in case. One now, one in three hours, he said.”

Thrawn dry swallowed his pill without comment and then went to wake up Arihnda, but Vanto stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“One other thing, sir.” The tone was serious, and Thrawn gave his interpreter his full attention. Vanto beckoned Thrawn to follow him into the refresher and shut the door after them. The light from the small fixture was on the low setting, but still seemed bright after the darkness in the main room. Thrawn spoke first.

“Colonel Yularen suspects we were deliberately targeted?”

Vanto couldn’t keep the surprise from his face.

“Yes.” He nodded twice. “Yes, he thinks she—or he—I also didn’t specify, per your instructions—” a strong blush rose to Vanto’s cheeks, “may have been sent to frame _you,_ in particular. Either by dumping a dead body in your path or putting you in a compromising position before the court martial.”

“The thought had occurred to me, Ensign,” Thrawn answered, refilling the water glass. “It does not change the facts. And, personally, I find the possibility unlikely.”

Vanto looked skeptical, swallowing back whatever scoff had risen to his lips. He gulped instead.

“There were too many unknown variables to place Ms. Pryce in our midst at that particular moment with any certainty. Our selection of, and arrival in the turbolift, as well as the timing of her dosage, would have been almost impossible to plan accurately, especially given the fast-moving nature of the drug. There was an extremely low chance of intersection.” 

Vanto still didn’t seem convinced, so Thrawn continued. 

“Not to mention all the other factors to take into account—our unaccompanied status in the lift, being certain another VIP guest did not take precedence over the re-directed stop, even making assumptions regarding our recognition of the danger and…compassion for a new acquaintance. We could have simply allowed someone else to take care of her ‘cure’. Her sexual motivation, you will recall, was indiscriminate. If it was a plan, it was a poor one.” Thrawn took a drink, ignoring Vanto’s obvious discomfort with the memory. 

“Also, Ms. Pryce would seem a risky and arbitrary choice, for a blackmailer.” Now Vanto raised an eyebrow and reached for the water glass. The Chiss handed it over and watched the younger man take a sip. “We were only introduced to her tonight. And rather briefly at that. And while it would likely damage _her_ reputation to be sexually involved with an alien such as myself, it would hardly have the same effect on my own career.”

It was evident Vanto didn’t entirely agree, but he offered a small grunt and handed back the water glass. Thrawn knew he was correct, even if Vanto doubted. He was well-aware of sexism as well as speciesism among the Imperial elite. The Chiss could be expected to be attracted to humans, regardless of his actual preferences. It was the sense of human superiority the Empire cultivated that would make the inverse seem reprehensible.

“No, Eli, if someone wished to ruin or blackmail me, they would have dosed _you_ instead. Far simpler. Far more effective.”

The blush went full rouge as Vanto realized the truth of Thrawn’s words. He had no response, that much was clear, and the lieutenant straightened from where he had been leaning against the refresher wall.

“So she _was_ the target,” Vanto said, something relieved in his voice. 

“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed, “or Senator Renking.” He pushed the release for the door. “I understand the Colonel’s concern, and of course it is his job to consider the most complicated and damaging possibilities. However in this case, I believe the phrase is “wrong place at the wrong time?”

Vanto managed a wan smile. “Yeah. Unlucky for us. Lucky for her, I guess.”

“Indeed,” agreed Thrawn.

He walked back over to the bed with the pills and water, placing one hand over Pryce’s. It was splayed on the mattress—thin fingers that had been spread against his skin not long ago. She stirred.

“Arihnda.”

She sat up, taking her time. Eyes heavy, she glanced from Vanto to Thrawn. Upon noticing the pill, she took it unquestioningly, washing it down with the entire glass of water. Thrawn looked approving.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice rough.

It was Vanto who answered. 

“It’s called a ‘scrubber.’ Instead of waiting days for this stuff to be out of your system, it’ll be gone in a few hours. Not even a trace left. No more shakes.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Did you find out what it was?”

Thrawn listened as Vanto explained what he had learned. The longer he spoke, the less self-conscious the younger man seemed. He never detailed the proscribed sexual remedy for the drug, Thrawn noted. It seemed a deliberate omission, but to whose benefit? Surely if the ISB had an antidote, they also knew that particular detail.

When Vanto finished, Pryce was angry.

_Heartbeat accelerating, nostrils flaring, skin flushing, hands fisting._

She was a fighter. Stronger than she looked. But rage would not serve her tonight. Thrawn checked the chrono. 

“Sleep some more,” he murmured. “I will wake you in three hours for the second dose.”

For a moment he thought she would refuse, a vibrant flash in her blue eyes. But then she slid back down between the sheets and rolled onto her side, back facing them. 

“Sir…”

Thrawn turned to see Vanto shouldering his pack. 

“Back to the _Blood Crow?_ ”

“Yeah, going to get a few things, rack out there.”

“Understood.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I do not.”

There were words unsaid, and Thrawn heard them nonetheless. Vanto would have his own lingering issues from the evening, but seemed to have found solace in the idea that Pryce was not working for the enemy. Perhaps Yularen’s reaction had also reassured him.

“Eli—”

“Yes, Thrawn?” he paused at the door.

“Thank you,” he said, not exactly what he wished to convey, but he trusted Vanto would get the meaning nonetheless.

The ensign gave him a little smile and casual salute as he left.


	4. Security Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Empire Day everyone. Hope you enjoyed this Ascension Week insanity!
> 
> My beta has read this madness 800 times, thank you [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss) for being there when I needed you! Also props to [frangipani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/pseuds/frangipani) for pep talks and out-of-context feedback.

Thrawn turned out the lights and headed towards the empty bed as Arihnda rolled over to face him. In the darkness, he assessed her temperature, her blood pressure. This level of concern for her was inappropriate, yet scraped away at him like a blunt knife that wounded through time and persistence. She was much improved, however, and the scrape grew duller, muffled in his guts.

“Lieutenant…” Her tone was a lighter shade than he would have expected. She was resilient. Arihnda appeared to have suffered no protracted damage. He inhaled deeply, the smell of sex still heavy in the air, and worked to relax his muscles, his voice.

“Thrawn,” he answered, feeling it was what she expected—what she wanted. And strangely pleased to offer it.

“Thrawn,” she repeated. The syllable was carefully enunciated. There was a brief rustling as she moved to the far side of the bed, the meaning clear. “I’ll sleep better.”

“Of course.” The reply was unnecessary. He was already there. 

She lifted the sheet. Thrawn ignored the fleeting ache that struck his chest as he rejoined her. Despite this second invitation, Arihnda seemed more hesitant than before. She draped against him nonetheless, her thin body outlining his side, no longer trembling but still somehow fragile. Her right hand tentatively rested on his chest. Not relaxed. He covered it with his left and deliberately closed his eyes.

“Good night, Arihnda.”

“Good night, Thrawn.”

He slept no more than an hour, a dreamless descent into unconsciousness. When he woke, Thrawn took silent inventory of the surroundings. Dawn was approaching, bringing with it a harsh uncertainty regarding recent events. He blinked, willing away his unease and focusing on the languor in his limbs, the warm curves and angles of the body pressing alongside his. Her arm stretched tighter across him, her head squeezed in a small space between his bicep and chest. There was wetness on his skin. 

_Steady respiration, even pulse, body temperature normal. Sleeping._

Thrawn touched the moisture, tasted it. Salt. Something tightened inside, a wave of anger compressing his ribs, suffocating with brute force. His next exhale cracked from his lungs, painful and raw. The sound broke the silence, but Arihnda slept on, her breasts moving with her breath at his side, pressing and withdrawing, even and steady.

Thrawn dragged his awareness back to himself, fighting the tension that seized him. His reaction to her suffering was disproportionate to their relationship, and he recognized it as such. It helped somewhat, to acknowledge it, to accept that primal drive he’d awakened by helping her. Protecting her. Fucking her.

The memories that his acknowledgement brought, however, carried another set of reactions. Thrawn shifted away, the heat of her suddenly scalding. She sighed in response, head rolling back onto his bicep. 

The movement woke her. Thrawn watched the return to awareness, the soft flutter of eyelashes, the sudden set of her jaw. Her neck angled up, glittering eyes meeting his in the dark.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was a clipped whisper. The most lucid-sounding she’d been since the gala.

“There is no need to apologize.”

He wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, but had no use for her guilt. Thrawn had accepted whatever complications would arrive as a result of his decisions this evening. He had been unwilling to sacrifice her, for reasons which still remained unclear.

“Was it…difficult for you?” 

Her question hung between them. Thrawn had not expected it, turning it over it in his brain. His bicep tensed beneath her cheek and she lifted her head higher.

“Was it?” she repeated.

“It was not,” he replied then, abruptly understanding. Surely that was the correct answer. A half-truth, but she wouldn’t want to hear otherwise—no woman would. He could sense more words forming on her tongue as his glowing eyes studied her face. Arihnda met his appraisal without reticence. She may be hesitant, but not shy, to be in an alien’s arms and bed.

“It was not,” she echoed, as if marveling at his words.

Thrawn inhaled, smelling her desire. That bitter bronze that had tasted so rich on his tongue. She wanted him. Responded to his presence now—his closeness. Thrawn was also not immune to her, his cock hard and obvious.

“I would have preferred different circumstances, Arihnda,” he said, refusing to consider the wisdom of the admission once it had left his lips.

Arihnda paused for a long moment, eyes fixed to his, nothing uncertain about her now. He sensed her purpose, her contemplation. She nodded then, short hair barely moving, flat against her head.

“They’re different now.”

He was not entirely convinced, but took her point. She had all too recently had a deadly drug in her system, regardless of whether or not it was still capable of influencing her libido. But Thrawn was no fool, and knew there was a reason for her assertion.

Perhaps she wanted to reclaim some power over herself. Over him. Perhaps she wished to erase the memory of what came before. Perhaps she felt some obligation for what he’d done, or was truly attracted to him. Or perhaps the scrubber pill was not as effective as promised, and she was still under the influence of manufactured lust.

Thrawn reviewed all these possibilities, certain there were others he hadn’t considered. Discarded their importance in the space of an instant.

“Yes.” A simple response, and easy enough to agree.

“I don’t…have to.” She shifted against him, restless along his thigh.

“I understand,” he answered, turning onto his side. Facing her, their heads were level. Aligned.

“Can we…”

He leaned in, unhurried, when she trailed off, and kissed her. The soft acceptance of her lips, the way she parted, opened to him, made him deepen it. This was so unlike the passion of before, but her taste was familiar. This arousal was a different brand, complicated and layered, but it was there all the same.

Her arms pushed, and Thrawn lay back, deferential. Her control now felt like redress, something correct in her dominance. Arihnda straddled him, breaking the kiss, the line of her cunt pressing against his erection through the thin material separating them. Her hands stroked upwards, from the band at his waist to the muscles of his abdomen, the bone of his sternum. Her fingers reached his neck, back to his face, outlining his lips. He tried not to move, holding still for her inspection. 

The dying night outside the window cast flickering shadows on her body as she straightened, the borrowed shirt loose around her hips. It was more erotic than her earlier nakedness, intimate in the dips and drapes of fabric hinting at what stayed covered.

Thrawn removed his underwear as Arihnda’s breathing turned rough and loud. His hands drifted up her thighs to her waist, rising over her ribs beneath the shirt. Her stomach tightened, her breasts filling his hands as she leaned down, kissing him again. Her next breath caught, froze, and she let out a moan as his fingers travelled down, gripping her ass, pulling her harder against him. His touch was demanding as she continued to grind atop him. He craved her. It no longer mattered how they got to this point.

Their kisses continued hard and hungry. When she lapped at his ear, patience deserted him. Thrawn yanked Arihnda down to his chest, his lips transmitting unfamiliar desperation. He flipped her onto her back beneath him, tongue exploring her mouth. She spread her legs for him, eager and waiting. Thrawn rested his palms a moment on her thighs, feeling the heat there. He moved one hand slowly down her leg, gliding over the smooth skin, the curve of her knee, fingers wrapping around her left ankle. He watched her as he raised it, resting her heel in the dip of his shoulder. Blue eyes stayed steady on his face, her lips parted in anticipation. With one fluid motion, Thrawn grasped her waist and pulled her down the sheet onto his cock.

That small mouth rounded in pleasure, no sound escaping as he pushed as deep as her body allowed. The heat of her, the pressure of her around him was perfect. She arched into him and reached for his ass, wanting more. He groaned, the sound pure surrender. Thrawn almost couldn’t move, cataloging the feel of her, the fit of her like a custom-made vise.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Thrawn wondered if Vanto had left in anticipation of this. Had their mutual desire been so transparent? It was of no consequence, but it was, he supposed, possible. The thought reminded him what she had liked before; Thrawn angled his cock for her, watched her lift and writhe in response. He drove deeper, lowering his head to her lips. She took what he offered, kissing, licking, nipping along his face and neck. Her arms wound under his, holding him to her.

He fucked her slowly, thoroughly. Had anything ever felt so good? There was an energy, an intensity that he hadn’t felt since perhaps his first time. Maybe he _was_ drugged, he thought, because the sex he was accustomed to did not intoxicate, did not render him senseless as he felt at this moment. Her body waved beneath him when he took her harder. As their rhythm increased, her cries grew quicker, shorter. Thrawn pulled back, lowered his hand where they were joined, finding her already oversensitive. She twitched, muscles contracting around him, ever closer. When Arihnda came, it was with a vicious snap and release that crashed against him. Her short nails dug into his skin. She fell back onto the mattress, fingers trailing lazily down his forearms, hands pushing to hold his.

The waxing sunrise was bright, flooding the room like a spotlight. Thrawn closed his eyes, denying its approach. It was preferable to measure time in breaths and thrusts—to feel the constricting heat of her, the wet slide of skin, the pressure of flesh on flesh, the scents and sound of it all. He shook his head, fighting both the daze that threatened and a sense of dismay at his inevitable orgasm.

“Thrawn—” she breathed, her hands letting go of his to frame his face. There was a tenderness in the name he couldn’t reconcile with the impulse of their fucking. He opened his eyes to see something he didn’t understand in hers. Everything suddenly felt like delirium, and he welcomed it, the sensation foreign and frightening but too tempting to resist. Thrawn slammed a final time into her as he came, seeing her wince from the strength of it. He watched her watch him—hips jerking, everything tensing. Strong legs wrapped around, holding him inside, and Arihnda drew him down by the neck for another kiss.

Drained, Thrawn collapsed, head resting next to hers, muscles strained and legs cramping. For once, he allowed himself the absence of thought, basking in lethargy and the loose circle of her arms about his shoulders. Gradually her thighs and calves relaxed, and he made himself roll onto his side, reading her shift as a hint to do so.

Neither spoke, nor slept; they were content to lie in proximity and silence as the sun rose higher.

Later, Thrawn briefly left to retrieve the final pill and water. An unfortunate reminder of what brought her to his bed. Arihnda took it, and pulled him back next to her. Now, unbidden, words left her in a rush. She had been used to do Renking's dirty work, ignorant and exploited by her employer. Her voice stayed impassive as she detailed Ghadi's plan, his threats and amusement at her predicament, tossing her into the hallway, uncaring if he'd sentenced her to death. Thrawn listened, blood pounding in his veins.

When her story was told, Thrawn said nothing, his arm still around her. He had no comfort; he doubted his ability to reassure. It didn't matter—she closed her eyes and slept once more against his side. 

The day was getting long. Thrawn had no engagements until this evening, but … it felt inadvisable, even dangerous to prolong their time together. Surely she had been missed? By friends, or a roommate? Perhaps she even had a lover.

He still knew almost nothing about her.

His comm crackled, and Thrawn slipped out of the sheets to answer. Her arm fell with a muffled sound onto the mattress. It was Yularen.

“Checking to see if your little problem has been solved.” 

As far as euphemisms went, it was a good one, Thrawn supposed. He automatically glanced up at the light fixture, relatively certain there would be at least one holocam secreted in the room.

“Yes, thank you for your assistance Colonel.”

“Excellent. Vanto did the right thing, coming to me. Don’t be hard on the boy for it, now.”

Interesting that Vanto hadn’t indicated it was Thrawn’s directive to seek out the ISB director, but it perhaps had been one of those items he felt best kept unspoken. Or selflessly wanting to protect his soon-to-be-court-martialed superior officer, if the ISB had been less than understanding. Thrawn appreciated Vanto's discretion, whatever the reason. And this did imply that perhaps Yularen had not seen whatever surveillance existed. Yet.

“Not at all, Colonel.”

“Good, good. You still feel up to tonight’s events then?”

“Of course,” Thrawn answered, not realizing it was a lie until he had said it out loud. He wondered if he would run into Moff Ghadi or Senator Renking this evening. And if his sense of self-preservation would prevail over his desire to exact swift and painful justice upon them. Vengeance wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar goal, but the onset of bloodlust in this case certainly was.

“Excellent. Don’t worry about a thing. We’re taking care of the rest, you understand? It will be taken care of.”

Thrawn hesitated, looking behind him to see Arihnda’s blue eyes wide and watching. He wondered what the Colonel was referring to, but somehow doubted it was the solution he—or the woman in his bed—was hoping for.

“I trust your judgement, Colonel,” he answered, expecting that was sufficient. It was.

“Twenty hundred then, Thrawn. Get some rest.”

“Yes sir,” he answered, and closed the comm, setting it back on the table. He didn’t know what to say, how to address this with her. But she spoke first.

“Colonel Yularen likes you.” There was a slight rustle as she sat up. “A powerful friend to have.”

Thrawn didn’t wish to speak politics or allies, but made himself agree as he went to retrieve the towel he’d thrown into the corner the night before.

“Yes. A good man.”

The slight curl of her lips said she knew better than to continue the conversation. Thrawn added diplomatic instincts to the short list of things he knew about her. Arihnda stood, small in the shirt that was too big for her, skimming the tops of her thighs.

“You have a busy week, Thrawn. I’ll get my things and go.”

He knew better than to squander the opening she’d provided. A quick nod.

“It has been twelve hours,” he said. “I hope –”

He had started the sentence without planning its end. Thrawn was not typically so lacking in eloquence or form. What did he hope? To see her again? That she got her revenge? He blinked, finally turning away from the sight of her lest he sound even more foolish.

“You hope?” she prompted softly. 

But the brief pause had been enough to regain his equilibrium. 

“I hope you have fully recovered, Arihnda,” he finished. “And wish you well.”

She moved to the neatly folded pile of clothing he’d assembled last night and began dressing, each movement wooden. He watched—unable to help it. First her panties, then the strange, baggy trousers. Socks and boots. She seemed reluctant to remove the shirt he’d provided, so Thrawn turned away to wrap the towel around his waist once more. He would use the refresher before dressing.

When he looked back, she was once more fully clothed. The high collar of her tunic was not sufficient to mask the air of vulnerability she wore like a perfume surrounding her.

Thrawn wondered at the change in her in the space of a night. She seemed to grow stronger as he stared, confidence now shading her aura, a ferocious conviction burning in her eyes. They roamed over his bare chest as she stood opposite. She stood stiffly, as if daring him to dwell on any weakness or indignity she’d suffered. He understood then, why he had been unable to sacrifice her.

“I also hope,” he added quietly, “that you will consider me your ally.”

“What I need,” she replied just as quietly, “is a weapon.”

“I have served in that capacity,” he said, closing the distance between them, responding to the ice in her voice, “on occasion.”

Her eyes met his, unflinching, open. Then her lips twisted in an almost-smile. It was a promise he’d made unthinkingly, instinctively. Thrawn wasn’t entirely sure why he'd offered himself this way. Trusting his power to her cause, a tool wielded to her purpose...he did not owe her this.

Yes, they had been temporarily bound by her ordeal. Yet this was several steps beyond whatever consequences would arise from saving her life; this was a commitment to someone he barely knew, for reasons he hadn’t begun to understand. Arihnda Pryce affected him. It wasn’t that she made him consider the ramifications of his pledge, it was rather being in her presence allowed him to _not_ consider them. Another snap decision, as before in the turbolift—yielding to intuition over logic.

He waited, sensing danger in her, an impetuous nature that rivaled the passion she’d already revealed to him.

“When shall you next, I wonder, Lieutenant Thrawn?” she asked finally, eyes still locked to his.

He smiled thinly at her return to formality. 

“When striking has the best chance of success, Ms. Pryce.” 

He saw the impatience in her eyes, but would not be swayed by it. If he were to truly help her, much more needed to be known and analyzed prior to pursuing deserved revenge. If Thrawn permitted himself this indulgence, he would choose ruthlessness over recklessness.

“Of course,” she said, returning his smile and heading to the door. Thrawn wondered if she doubted his commitment, and decided ultimately it was of little consequence. “Thank you again.”

Those words were quieter, less assured. Thrawn felt an odd surge of complicated emotion threaten his stoic expression as she turned to leave. He wished her success—he wouldn't deny it.

“Be cautious, and be safe.”

She nodded once, curtly, something unreadable and dark in her eyes, and she was gone. Thrawn stood for a long moment looking at the closed door, muscles tense and throat tight. As he made his way to the refresher, he noticed the absence of his borrowed undershirt. Still borrowed, then, he thought, inexplicably pleased with her theft.

It _had_ been an unpredictable evening, indeed, but perhaps a successful one nonetheless.


End file.
